Radicalia
by stillroisin
Summary: The Ministry has fallen. Harry Potter has vanished. Hogwarts has changed. The time has come for Dumbledore's Army to live up to their name. [Ginny's Sixth Year]
1. Prologue

Nathanael kept his gaze fixed westward as dawn rippled behind him. Although light didn't break through the dense forest canopy he heard the daylight's effects. His keen ears had noted each cracked twig or scurry in the underbrush while he'd sat vigil, but these nocturnal murmurs were giving way to the robins awakening for the day.

"It's time," said a hoarse voice.

A twist of smoke curled from a chimneys on the distant roof. Nathanael's muscles felt stiff after so many hours keeping watch. Every night for the last month he'd been among the surveillance guard, ready and waiting lest the family make a run for it in the middle of the night. Frankly, he was surprised that they hadn't yet tried.

But this morning the guard would intervene, one way or another. With a steady hand he slid his mask down over his face and signaled that they advance.

Cloaks whispered over dewy grass, sliding like shadows toward the lopsided structure in the valley below. Only one window twinkled yellow—the kitchen, probably. The mother, fussing over breakfast.

Nathanael couldn't imagine what the woman must be thinking, clinging to her normality and her routine. Nor did he understand _why_ they hadn't attempted to escape. France had only just closed its borders but the Netherlands remained obstinately open.

Whatever the reason, he was glad for it. Things would have ended messily had they tried.

Three cloaked figures disappeared around the stone wall to stake out positions along the perimeter while another slipped up the garden path. Nathanael kept watch from a distance as Augustus' fist knocked thrice against the door: _boom, boom, boom._

"The house is surrounded," called Augustus' magically amplified voice. Inside, the shattering of china. "Drop your wands and come out with your hands on your heads."

Footsteps fell heavy on the stairs inside the teetering shanty and urgent voices hissed. Then, just above the barn, a faint creaking.

"There." Nathanael pointed up to a window sliding open. Beside him, Walden's breath rattled against his mask. A red head had emerged, catching the first few rays of dawn until it burnt like fire. The girl tossed a rucksack out the window onto the adjacent barn before leaping out after it.

Walden sent a stunning spell after her but she was already making a run for the woods.

"Hold your position." Nathanael threw out an arm to stop Walden from pursuing. "The others will intercept her."

At the front of the house, Augustus had his wand trained on the parents. The mother sobbed as she knelt on the grass, fingers laced together behind her head, while the father just opened and closed his mouth like a fish.

"Your son," Augustus growled. "Where is he?"

"Which one?"

"The youngest one—the one who ought to be reporting back to Hogwarts today."

"He's upstairs!" the mother pleaded. "We've told the Ministry! He's very ill!"

Nathanael and Walden shared a nod before advancing to search the house.

"Rowle reckons the son's with Potter," Walden said as they strode, wands raised, through cluttered first floor rooms. "He and Dolohov swear they saw them together at that muggle cafe in London."

"Well we shall see," Nathanael said, peering into the crowded pantry. "I recall Our Lord punishing them for their failure to capture the Undesirables that day. I'm sure you understand if I'm disinclined to believe their accounts after that fact. If the boy is indeed here then it should be easy enough to confirm."

Walden merely grunted as he lumbered up the stairs after Nathanael. Each of the many bedrooms were small and easily searched, and most sported telling carpets of dust.

"Well where is he, then?" Walden sounded satisfied as they scanned the topmost room, scarcely large enough for the both of them to stand in. Quidditch ephemera crusted every surface but the bright oranges were muted by a thin layer of dust.

Before Nathanael could formulate a response, there came a thump and a groan from above. "The parents say it's Spattergroit," he said.

"I'll search the girl's room again." Walden nodded before doubling back.

Nathanael followed his wand up the ladder and pushed open the trapdoor. A putrid, rotten smell erupted and he nearly gagged. In the far corner lay a red haired creature in filthy pajamas, its face a topography of angry boils. A string of cloudy drool dripped from its cracked lips. Then, a guttural rumbling from its throat.

The trapdoor snapped shut again as Nathanael retreated.

"This bag looks to have been packed in advance," Augustus' voice grew clear as Nathanael strode back down the twisting stairwell to the garden. "She'd clearly planned to make a run for it."

The sun rose like blood in the east, rendering his companions silhouettes of windblown robes.

"We had no idea!" the mother cried as a wand jabbed against her temple. "Her trunk's all packed for Hogwarts—check her room!"

"My wife and I have been very clear with Ginny about her return to Hogwarts. We had no intention of breaking Ministry rules."

While the father kept a firm but consistent tone Nathanael couldn't help but note the way his jaw tensed at the word 'Ministry.' His disdain for defining the new administration as such was clear. But Nathanael had expected as much from Arthur Weasley. By all accounts, the lowly Muggle Artefacts officer had continued to do his work and toe every line but everyone knew where the family's loyalties lay.

A high shriek pierced the air and everyone tensed, listening. _The girl._ Her parents' faces blanched despite the rosy dawn breaking before them.

Nathanael watched as the others dragged young Ginny Weasley across the grass. The child spat and bit at her captors, twisting and pulling against their binding spells.

"Well that's that sorted." Augustus' voice was dry. With a flick of his wand he summoned a black bag, tearing it over her head in one swift motion. Her shouts came to a stop. The silencing charm would leave her deaf to the world outside and muted from within. Even when Walden kicked her to the ground, pushing his boot into her back, she didn't make a sound. Or at least, they couldn't hear it.

"The son." Augustus turned toward Nathanael. "Is he here?"

"In the attic." He waved a hand. "The parents seem to be telling the truth about his being ill with Spattergroit."

Walden looked up from the girl on the grass, seeming dissatisfied. "And you're _sure_ it's Ronald Weasley?"

If the Weasleys were caught lying, they were to be executed.

"Yes," Nathanael lied. "I'm sure."

* * *

 _A/N: Ah! So this is the very first time I've ever posted a multi-chapter fic without prewriting the whole thing and then extensively editing it first! SO YEAH THAT'S A THING. There's a lot I want to try to do with this story, so I'd super-duper appreciate hearing what people think of it and what they make of it and stuff to see whether my ideas are coming across or not. EEK! Posting as I go is such a scary and exciting new frontier for me!_

The rest of the story will be told primarily through Ginny's POV, but I wanted to try this little prologue situation. How did people think it worked out?

Special thanks to Pixileanin, Slide, TidalDragon and Shez for being such amazing betas and helping so much with this story!


	2. The World Will Die Screaming

Ten words. Just ten words divided the Before from the After.

Ginny could remember the tickle of stolen champagne bubbles against her nose. It had been Fred to slosh it into her goblet with a smirk, and she'd squealed when the foam began overflowing. She hadn't seen the silver lynx land, but she'd heard it speak those ten words.

 _The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming._

Pushing against the current of the stampede, guests disapparating in swirls of dress robes all around her, Ginny had kept her eyes fixed on the young ginger boy across the marquis. Harry, disguised by Polyjuice. Harry, taking Hermione's hand. Figures in robes and masks descended like while shrieks and shouts tore through the wedding party.

Just as soon as Ron took Hermione's other hand, they were gone.

And Ginny was left behind.

She remembered grass staining the knees of her golden bridesmaid robe, fingers laced together at the back of her head. Bootfalls landed heavy as the Death Eaters roved among the remaining guests, questioning. A wand point pressed into her neck—

"Have you seen Harry Potter?"

"No."

And she hadn't. The last time Ginny had seen Harry, he was a ginger muggle from down the village. She didn't even have a final glance of unruly black hair or light glinting off glasses to hold on to. Just an unfamiliar boy across the dancefloor. There and then, gone.

Ginny could feel a bruise blooming on the small of her back. She could feel the squeeze of being transported by side-along apparition, and thick fingers coiled around either arm. But she saw nothing and heard nothing. Only blackness, and her own rapid breath through dry lips.

Time became impossible to track. It might have been minutes or hours since the Death Eaters dragged her back to the Burrow, so she clung to each new sensation grasping at clues for where she might be and what might be happening.

And then—soft, textured cushions beneath her. She was lying down on her side but she couldn't remember when that had happened. They must have knocked her out and she'd only just come to. The shock of it brought panic as she groped, blind, around her new environment.

The rattling of the walls against her fingers and the trembling carpet under her shoes were familiar. They brought memories of chocolate frogs, excitement, and chaos. The Death Eaters had dumped her on the Hogwarts Express.

Tugging at the black bag over her head she felt a thrill of relief that she could now remove it. The glaring lights came as an assault to her long deprived eyes and the world was a deafening roar outside the silence of the bag. Train wheels seem to screech along the tracks and the jangling crystals of the chandelier above sounded piercing.

As the bright compartment swam into focus, she was relieved to find that she was alone. A small relief. Ginny hadn't wanted to go back to school.

"Ron's not going!" She'd said it almost everyday since Bill and Fleur's wedding. "Why can't I just go into hiding as well?"

"Because as far as the Ministry is concerned, he's still here!" her mum had seethed through gritted teeth, stabbing one finger up toward the attic and the hastily disguised ghoul. Even inside their own home Ginny's parents had taken to whispering. "We can't risk them poking about and getting a closer look!

"But it could just be me on my own!" Ginny had cried, voice fierce but brittle. "I could go to France before the borders close—I'd probably be safer on my own or with the Delacours anyhow!"

"If you don't turn up to Hogwarts it will come down on your father. If you run, then we'd all have to, and your father has to be here for the Order."

So while she bitched and moaned and threatened to just run away, she'd had no choice but to sit by and watch her mother pack her trunk. Listen to her father's nightly lectures about following all the rules while picking at scars on the scrubbed kitchen table.

If only they'd had another ghoul.

It must have been hours that she'd been unconscious, because the sky beyond her compartment was fully dark. She wiped a robed fist against the fogged window to get a clear view outside. Fingers of mist crept over the moors, beyond which lay the castle. Jagged black towers and windows like yellow eyes blazing with torch-light. Ginny imagined its gates opening like a great stone mouth and breathing fire.

The steam engine took its last breath and shuddered to a stand-still. The air caught in Ginny's lungs. It just _couldn't_ be. It couldn't _actually_ be happening. There was no way she could bear months on end stuck under the tutelage of Dumbledore's murderer. It was ridiculous, absurd, a bad dream…

Somehow, she'd been so sure that _something_ would happen and she wouldn't need to go back. They'd win the war quickly, or You-Know-Who would have a change of heart about muggles.

Or, Harry would come back for her and she would join him wherever he was.

She tried to avoid thinking about him but it was like a scab she couldn't help but pick. _No news is good news, no news is good news, no news is good news._ The mantra had been stuck in her head since the wedding. A song without a melody.

Ginny rattled the handle to the compartment door only to find it locked. Peering outside again, she saw a fleet of silhouetted Death Eaters snaking toward the train. The seconds ticked by while she waited alone in her compartment, uneven breath fogging the window. The longer she waited the more she felt like her resolve might not last. Like she wouldn't be able to go through with spending the next year at Hogwarts. But if so, then what? Would she do a runner? The small army of cloaked figures outside were surely there to intercept escapees. Horror like ice-water dripped down her back as she realized that there was nothing, _nothing_ , she could do. Even if she wasn't brave enough or strong enough to endure what was to come, they'd already dragged her back kicking and screaming once.

It hadn't been her intention to run that morning, but she hadn't known why the Death Eaters were there. If she had, she might not have tried to make a break for it.

Maybe. Then again, if she were being honest, she'd been waiting for an excuse to try.

"Sixth years!" a amplified voice barked and she jumped. "At attention."

The lock on her compartment door clicked open. With one last deep breath Ginny stood and pulled it open. Beside the train door an unmasked Death Eater considered a clip board.

 _Well_ , she figured. _They hardly need anonymity now._

Glancing down the thoroughfare she was surprised to see how few students had returned. The whole of Ginny's year fit in just one train car, and she counted less than twenty people standing at attention.

Victoria Frobisher and Demelza Robins would have gotten the summons but their families had fled to the continent earlier that summer, and Barbara Stimpson was muggleborn. No one knew what had happened to her.

"Harper, Runcorn, Urquart, Vaisey," the Death Eater rattled off the names of the Slytherin boys in rapid fire. "Down to the carriages if you will."

It turned Ginny's stomach to see the smirks they wore as they hopped off the train.

"Harkiss, Mockridge, Rookwood, Selwyn." The Slytherin girls perked up and Sabine Harkiss spared Ginny a superior sneer. Ginny had to repress the urge not to trip her as she passed.

The other Houses were not so populous as Slytherin. After all of three Hufflepuffs had been sent on their way, Ginny began to realize that the guard were excusing students based on their relative flight risks. While the Slytherins had been free to skip down to the carriages unaccompanied, Luna Lovegood was sent down separately from her fellow Ravenclaws, flanked by two hooded escorts. Soon the Gryffindor boys had been called, and Ginny was left standing alone in the passage. She'd been the only Gryffindor girl in sixth year to have returned.

"Ginevra Weasley," the wizard said, his voice a satisfied purr. Ginny just kept her eyes trained on the half-distance and began walking to the door. "Nuh-uh-uh." He threw an arm in front of her chest.

Surprised, her eyes snapped upward. And then she recognized him. He'd grown a goatee and plucked his unibrow but he had those same ice-chip eyes that had leered out from wanted posters after the mass breakout at Azkaban. And again, shining behind his mask at the Department of Mysteries. Walden Macnair—her new caretaker.

"Step back, girlie," he growled , then hooked two fingers into his lips to give a wolf whistle. Hooded wizards flooded onto the train, the smell of rain and cold and sweat clinging to their cloaks. Mulciber, Dolohov, Avery, Nott—Ginny stopped counting once she caught the wild, mad eyes of Rabastan Lestrange. Almost every Death Eater she'd battled at the Ministry had been called upon to escort her from the steam engine.

She had to bite her lip not laugh at their pettiness. _Congratu-fucking-lations, you beat a sixteen year old._

Rabastan Lestrange seized her from behind and a moment of panic clawed at her chest. The Death Eater began searching her, waving a wand and muttering incantations, while his companions tore apart her trunk.

"Concealed magic," Crabbe shouted from her compartment. Ginny winced to see that Rookwood was going through her knickers.

"Let me see," Macnair said, and Crabbe tossed over a shampoo bottle. "What's this then, girle?"

"Shampoo," Ginny said.

Macnair gave the dry, hacking laugh of a heavy pipe smoker. "I can see that. Why's it that it's setting off the alarm, eh?"

"I dunno, I got it new." Ginny tried to remain composed. "The rules said all hygiene products had to be new, so…"

Owl upon owl had been sent to the Burrow outlining every new rule. More restrictions than ever before had been adopted to prevent students smuggling anything into the castle. Everything from toothpaste to face potions had to be brand new and unopened, and there was a blanket ban on any and all Wizard Wheezes merchandise. The worst of it had been the specifications on school supplies—all students were to have the same brand of quills, the same type of parchment. The Weasleys usually bought things used or at a discount, and Ginny's parents hadn't been able to afford everything on the new list. She knew how much it had hurt their pride to ask Fred and George for a loan to acquire it all, especially as everyone knew that the twins would never accept repayment.

"Give it here," Nott said, seeming frustrated, and waved his wand over the shampoo bottle. "It's an undetectable extension charm," he announced. "It's probably got about a gallon of shampoo in here. You know these Weasleys—they'd be the type to buy in bulk."

The Death Eaters muttered amongst themselves before deciding that her shampoo and conditioner weren't cleverly disguised weapons. Ginny covered her laugh as a cough.

"Alright, clean that up." Macnair waved a hand at her belongings hanging ramshackle out of her trunk. All of her mother's thoughtful organizing and packing of her luggage had been destroyed and Ginny wasn't sure she could make it all fit again. Kneeling down on the carpet she got to careful work re-folding.

"Are you a witch or aren't you?" Macnair barked, brandishing his wand. All at once her things flew pell-mell into the trunk, and she tugged her hand away just in time to keep it from getting caught by the lid crashing shut. The overstuffed trunk latched and she heard the sound of crunching glass.

 _Excellent_ , she thought, taking a steadying breath and hoping that her bottles of potions ingredients hadn't broken.

Tired, angry, and still mildly hysterical, Ginny was in a daze as the gaggle of Death Eaters led her into the night. The other students were long gone by the time she arrived at the shore of the lake. Dolohov used a binding spell on her wrists before shoving her into a carriage and, to her disgust, Macnair climbed in after her. He reeked of rancid meat, and she soon discovered why. The otherwise silent journey was punctuated by the sound of him gnawing on a roast chicken carcass.

The other Death Eaters had boarded the remaining carriages and she watched them traveling in a tight formation around her own. The village retreated into the distance as the castle loomed nearer. Macnair sucked and smacked at the chicken bones and Ginny tried not to meet his eye.

"You could turn things around for yourself, you know." Strips of flesh had become entangled in his moustache. "You're a quiet sort of girl, aren't you? Don't say much."

'Quiet' was not a word usually used to describe Ginny Weasley. Only pragmatism kept back the tide of everything she wanted to say to the Death Eater.

"That's the thing about quiet people, though," he went on. "They tend to hear things. People don't notice them around and get to talking. Have you ever heard anything interesting, Ginny-gin? Ever hear your family, or their friends maybe, say something interesting?"

Ginny leaned her head against the cool glass of the window and closed her eyes.

"We know a good lot about your family. A good lot," he mused. "Did you know we've got wizards stationed out in the woods beside your house?"

At that, she couldn't help but start.

"Ah, I guess you didn't know that. Which means your parents don't know that. Quiet girl like you, you'd have heard something about it if they did."

Macnair studied her face and Ginny tried to control her features, careful not to make eye-contact lest he use legilimency. She doubted that he was capable of such complex magic, it wasn't worth taking the risk.

"I bet you're wondering why I'm telling you this. See, I can tell you all sorts of things, because you won't be able to tell your family anyhow."

Though she tried not to react her muscles tensed despite herself.

"Ah, I guess you didn't know about that either." He grinned. "You won't be able to write your parents. Didn't anybody tell you?"

A lump rose in Ginny's throat. She knew that correspondence with her parents would be monitored, that she'd have to be guarded about anything she wrote to them. They'd gone over the Do's and Don'ts and devised an innocuous-seeming code word in case she found herself in real danger. She had no idea that her owl privileges had been revoked entirely. Tears like needles threatened the corners of her eyes.

"Bad luck," the Death Eater sighed and gazed out the window. "It seems like you don't have that many people left to talk to." Then he leaned forward and the fetid smell of flesh overwhelmed her "But you could always find more people to talk to. You could talk to me."

The carriage jolted to a stop.

"No thank you," Ginny finally spoke. She was almost relieved to see Lestrange's deranged face as he opened the door for her. One more second stuck in that carriage, and she would have certainly been sick.

Ginny's footsteps echoed as Avery and Nott frogmarched her to the Great Hall, and she was surprised to see that the feast was already underway. No one spoke. Even the Slytherins kept their eyes downcast as hooded Death Eaters roved between the tables or glowered from the corners. Soon, the clanking of silverware sounded somehow louder than any boisterous start of term feast she could remember. The night sky glittering in the enchanted ceiling above no longer looked beautiful, just dark.

"Hey, budge up," Neville whispered down the Gryffindor table as Ginny approached. "How many Death Eaters did you get?" he asked, leaning forward once she'd descended into her seat.

"You too?" she asked, surprised. "I guess it's all of us then—Luna only got two, but they had everyone from the Department of Mysteries bring me from Hogsmeade."

"Well, not everyone," Neville murmured.

"No," Ginny agreed in an undertone. "I guess _she_ ranks somewhere above 'babysitter.'"

"No." Neville shook his head. " _She_ was with me."

A mix of cold terror and fury rumbled in Ginny's stomach. Harry had told her, in strictest confidence, about what the Lestranges had done to Neville's parents. Ginny wanted badly to seize his hand, or leap across the table and hug him, but more than breaking the rules she didn't want to let on that she knew.

"I'm sure Harry told you," he said, and Ginny was shocked to see him give a breezy shrug before taking a hefty bite of mashed potato. "I had Rodolphus and Bellatrix—I guess Rabastan was with you?"

"Oh, Neville—"

"Students!" McGonagall called out from the head table. "A reminder that meals are to be spent in reflective silence." Each word came sharp and enunciated, as though she were spitting out something vile. When she retook her seat, Ginny saw McGonagall give an almost indiscernible roll of the eye. Clearly, she took no pleasure in enforcing the 'No Speaking' rule.

The remainder of the feast passed in tense silence, fear swelling every time the footfalls of a passing Death Eater drew near. Down the table Ginny saw a handful of terrified young faces. _First years._ A pang shot through her chest and she gulped down the lump in her throat. This was their first ever night at Hogwarts. A tiny girl that looked closer to seven than eleven had silent tears collecting at her chin, and Ginny saw the way her fork trembled in her hand.

It felt like ages before the plates finally cleared. Checking her watch, she saw that the feast had actually been shorter than any other by almost an hour.

She had been avoiding looking at the head table, not wanting to see their new 'Headmaster' sullying Dumbledore's chair. They'd never get the slime out. If the Order won the war, they'd be in the market for a new fancy-golden-throne-thing.

 _When_ , she corrected herself. _When the Order wins the war._

"Attention students." His oily voice rang out and she finally let her eyes wander toward him. He raised his arms like some exalted king quieting his adoring public. "I'm happy to announce this year's Head Boy and Girl: Draco Malfoy and Tracey Davis."

Only the Slytherin table offered much applause. Neville's hands didn't even left his lap.

"As the population of so many Houses has reduced," Snape went on. "We had to make some adjustments to the prefect system. Hogwarts' new prefects are as follow: Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass—"

"So far so Slytherin," Neville muttered.

Snape continued listing names until nearly every Slytherin student years five through seven had been named a prefect. Even more time was spent outlining their now-expanded authority, leaving Ginny with every impression that Snape had revived Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad in everything but title. It came as an immense relief when the students were finally dismissed.

McGonagall made swift work crossing the Hall to meet her standing students and Ginny had to suspect that the professor was keen to get them back to Gryffindor Tower. The much-shortened line of Gryffindors trailed behind as they climbed the stairs in silence. Even the Fat Lady looked sullen as they arrived.

"The new password," McGonagall sniffed. "Is 'obedience.' "

Neville's laugh was so quiet it might have gone unheard, but the silence hung so thick around them that any noise at all seemed to echo. McGonagall's eyes flashed at him, face inscrutable. Then, she said nothing.

The portrait swung open and Ginny followed the other students in on shaking legs. It felt perverse to be in a place so friendly and familiar. The worn, squashy armchairs and threadbare carpet whispered with the ghosts of happy memories. It was as if these things had died, and only their corpses remained.

"Now, I have an announcement of my own," McGonagall called out and Ginny couldn't help but note an apologetic chord in her tone. "It is my _duty_ to inform you that socializing is prohibited between classes. The dormitories are to be used for the sole purpose of sleeping, and the common areas for quiet and individual study. That all said," she paused. "I will now be retiring to my own chamber. I trust you all to follow the rules, as I won't be here to enforce them… Goodnight."

The professor turned on her heel and departed and the Gryffindors waited a whole thirty seconds before erupting into chatter.

Cries of "this is madness!" and "what bollocks!" rang out and the tension she'd been holding in her back for so many hours finally broke. When Neville scooped her into a tight hug, she nearly burst into tears.

"I'm going to get the D.A. back together," he whispered into her ear. "McGonagall's clearly on our side, and I bet we have allies in Sprout and Flitwick as well. We can fight back."

Ginny couldn't understand where his enthusiasm was coming from. She suddenly felt very tired and very sad. "Listen, Neville, I'm sorry but… I think I'd like to be alone right now."

"Sure, of course." He nodded, releasing her, but looked dejected. "So now we know Gryffindor Tower is safe, it might be smart to wake up a few hours early before lessons. The 'prefects' have our password so the Common Room's out. But you can get up the stairs to the boy's' dorm, and Seamus is D.A. so that's a good option."

"Yeah, great," Ginny said simply, turning up the stairs to her own dorm. After everything, she didn't have the heart to tell him that it was hopeless.

"Ace, so see you, say, five tomorrow?"

"Five, good," she said without looking back.

Four vacant beds were waiting for her when she arrived and Ginny realized that she hadn't wanted to be alone after all. Not really. Collapsing down onto her four-poster she felt a violent pain begin to consume her. _No news is good news. No news is good news. No news is good news._

She couldn't even imagine Harry; where he might be and what he might be doing. And whatever he was doing mattered _so fucking much_. But even more than that…

Ginny Weasley would let the world die screaming if she could just have him back.

* * *

 _A/N: There's a tone and atmosphere I'm trying to hit here so please definitely let me know what you thought! Concrit is always enthusiastically encouraged :)_

 _Thank you Slide! Thank you Shez! Thank you Pixileanin! It's so amazing to have authors that I love SO MUCH beta this :D_


	3. Hell is Empty

For the space of a breath, Ginny forgot. The thick red hangings around her four-poster warmed the morning light and the vaulted ceiling brought a familiar comfort. She'd long since memorized every crack and fissure in the stones. Morning meant silly, half-sleeping banter with her dorm-mates, frantic last-minute homework, and the promise of a lovely breakfast.

But there came no gentle pattering of Demelza's early shower, no creaking of floorboards as Victoria prayed, no humming through parted lips as Barbara brushed on mascara.

And then Ginny remembered.

Taking a deep breath she tried to focus on uncoiling the knots in her stomach and willed the cold fingers around her heart to release their grip. One question crashed around her skull, interrupting itself with ever more urgent protests: _What do I do? What do I do? What am I supposed to do now?_

Well. _Get up._

Ginny would rise as she'd done every day of her life. Then she'd shower, attend lessons, try not to feel anything, and go back to sleep again. But she couldn't shake the idea that doing so would mean giving in. As though there was something else she ought to be doing.

 _I don't have a choice_ , Ginny reminded herself. There were Death Eaters stationed around the Burrow, ready to pounce at any moment. She couldn't even warn her parents about them now that her owl privileges had been cut off. Her only option, at this point, was to recede into herself and hope that her body would function automatically, carrying her through the routine.

 _Step two: shower._

She'd fallen asleep in her robes and felt sore where they'd bunched up under her arms. Unlatching her trunk she found the tangled mass of clothes and school supplies. The memory of Augustus Rookwood digging through her knickers flashed across her eyes and she felt sick. With a swish and flick of her wand she levitated the knot of clothing into the laundry chute, resolving to hand-wash and wand-dry what she had on for the coming day. Defiance flickered as she considered just going down for lessons stinky and unwashed, but it went out at once. Snape had sent at least a dozen owls over the holidays outlining specific hygiene rules.

 _Bloody hypocrite_. Ginny was almost entirely sure that Snape hadn't washed his hair in at least a decade. For a whimsical moment she mused that that had been why the Death Eaters had made such a fuss about her shampoo. Maybe they'd never seen such a thing before?

With a smirk she seized her narrowly-rescued bottles and padded to the washroom. Habit compelled her to lock the door behind her as she stripped off her robes and stepped into the claw-footed tub. Twisting the knob she felt the water burn hotter, hotter, until her skin flushed red and angry. She closed her eyes against the sting, as though it could boil away every wretched feeling inside her, and let her mind float away with the steam.

Coming out of her daze she heard chatter rising from the Common Room. The water had gone cold. Realizing she didn't have much time left, she made quick work lathering her scalp. Then—something was wrong. Her hair caught, tangled up in a sticky glob. Ripping her fingers free she found them red and dripping. _Blood._ No, something else. Something that repelled water. Something that wouldn't come off.

Ginny screamed.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs followed by a fist on the washroom door. "Hey, what's going on?"

It sounded like Lavender.

"I don't know!" Ginny shouted, panicking as she scrubbed her hands.

"Are you hurt?!" Parvati called.

"I don't know!"

"We're coming in!"

The door blasted open, but Ginny didn't even care that she was stark naked and sobbing in the shower. The red material had hardened and dried despite the deluge from the shower, gluing her hair to her cheek and her fingers together.

"What is that stuff?" Lavender seized Ginny's arm to inspect while Parvati threw a towel around her.

"It was definitely shampoo earlier," Ginny whimpered. "It set off the alarm but it was just the undetectable extension charm and it was _shampoo then._ "

"It set off their alarm?" Lavender and Parvati shared a meaningful look. " _Everyone's_ shampoos and things have undetectable extension charms and no one else got searched. And also… Well, they're _undetectable._ "

"I know what it is!" Parvati cried. "It's Permanent Paint! It's a Wizard Wheezes thing. Your brothers must have snuck it in and used a time-released transfiguration charm to turn it into shampoo for a while. Maybe until it actually got wet!"

" _Permanent paint?_ " Ginny knew all about permanent paint. The main selling point being that it was permanent. Impossible to remove, except with the Wizard Wheezes patented removing formula—only available to approved customers.

"It's a pretty shite prank," Lavender agreed. "But they must have included something to take it off with."

"Ooh!" Parvati clapped. "Try the conditioner!"

Desperate, Ginny squeezed a dollop of perfectly normal conditioner into her red-crusted palm. Sure enough, it became sparkling and translucent as soon as it hit water, dissolving the hard shell over her fingers.

Ginny's shoulders quaked with tears of relief.

"Oh honey," Parvati cooed.

Even though Ginny was dripping wet wearing only a towel, the other two girls pulled her into a hug. She could do little more than cry into their shoulders.

"Just don't you dare get my hair wet," Lavender purred.

"Ok," Ginny sniffled. "And do you think I could borrow some normal shampoo and stuff. And… maybe some knickers too? It's just—Death Eaters touched mine."

Ginny's robes still felt damp as she rushed down the stairs from Gryffindor Tower but she couldn't afford more time drying them lest she miss breakfast entirely. At least Parvati had given her an unopened package of cotton underpants to wear until hers were laundered.

It had always been the twins' style to lighten the mood via pranking, but this time, Ginny couldn't get behind their antics. Worse than the shock of it was the knowledge that she'd have to borrow shampoo from the other Gryffindor girls for the rest of term. She could hardly tell any of the faculty that hers had turned into a banned Wizard Wheezes product.

Descending the last steps to the Great Hall, she heard only the clatter of cutlery. Students sat in a daze as professors and prefects paced the walkways between tables. At least the massive fleet of Death Eaters hadn't become a permanent fixture. Only Avery, Nott, and Macnair had stayed behind to glower from the edges of the Great Hall. Ginny figured that the others had better things to do, like kidnap and torture.

Sliding onto the bench beside Neville, she was surprised that he didn't meet her eye.

"Bollocks!" she groaned. "Nev, I'm so sorry, I completely forgot!"

The previous night still felt like a dream, and she only just remembered tepidly agreeing to meet him at five that morning. It was nearly eight.

Neville only shrugged and poured himself more coffee. He alone seemed to be eating while the other Gryffindors just gazed blankly at the plates before them. Seamus looked to have forgotten what he was doing entirely, one bite of fried egg raised halfway to his mouth as he stared into the half distance. Ginny just scratched butter onto a piece of toast, hypnotized by the way it melted into the craggy surface.

When the bell finally rang for classes, her toast had grown cold.

"Midnight," Neville whispered, rising from his seat. "Same place."

Footsteps echoed in the corridors as the sixth years marched to Transfiguration. Hestia and Sabine giggled at the doorway to McGonagall's classroom—socializing with abandon—and Ginny couldn't help but feel impressed by how relaxed they both appeared. Sabine's uniform was ironed and pressed and she'd swapped out the original sleeve buttons for glittering onyx. Ginny's uniform was rumpled and frayed and had lost all its buttons well before it came into her possession.

"I heard you were the last one off the train last night." One penciled brow disappeared under Hestia's elaborately curled fringe.

"Yeah, I got to meet your dad," Ginny snapped back. "Hadn't seen him since we ran into each other in the Department of Mysteries."

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," Sabine said in a bored voice.

 _Stupid_. She should have known better than to antagonize the children of Death Eaters. This wasn't the old Hogwarts.

"You might want to watch yourself, Weasley," Hestia snarled. "Everyone in this class is a prefect except for your lot."

Ginny just rolled her eyes and turned into the classroom.

"Another five points for cheek!" Sabine called after her.

Sabine hadn't been so bad before. A little snooty and fond of name-dropping to be sure, but far from _evil_. Then again, people of Sabine's ilk tended to gravitate towards power. Yesterday's Slug Club had become today's Death Eaters.

McGonagall hushed the class, ordering them to settle, but it sounded more like a suggestion than a real command. As if McGonagall knew she only had a minimal amount of control over her own students. The following lecture sounded more forced and stilted than any Ginny had seen the professor give and she kept finding herself distracted by the power dynamics in the classroom. The Slytherins seemed to be pushing the professor, trying to gauge how far they could go before she would push back. Or maybe they were just punishing her. Watching her dither and try to toe the line for fun.

McGonagall, the former Deputy Headmistress, once so strict and unshakable, now walking on eggshells. An ant under a magnifying glass.

Ginny didn't retain one word about Gamp's Law or its exceptions.

"Hey," Andy Kirke whispered as Ginny fastened her rucksack at the end of the lesson. "Do you also have this on your timetable?"

Ginny squinted at the spot on the parchment. _Muggle Studies / Carrow, A._

"Yeah," she muttered back, trying not to move her lips. "Will it be… like before, do you think?"

She couldn't imagine why Death Eaters would want to educate the students on Muggle ways.

"I mean." Andy considered his words. "How could it?"

"And this." Ginny furrowed her brows and pointed toward their new 'Arcane Arts' class. " _A. Carrow._ Same teacher?"

His face blanched. "You didn't see their introduction?"

"I was late coming in, why—"

Andy waved a quieting hand and Ginny realized Hestia Rookwood had been watching them through narrow eyes.

"Off to your next class, please," McGonagall said in too high a voice.

Ginny had never been to the Muggle Studies classroom and it seemed like not many of her fellow students had either. Standing at attention against the wall of the corridor she watched as a line of Ravenclaws queued up across. Then, a blonde head. Ginny felt a thrill of joy to see Luna Lovegood.

Guilt soon followed. Ginny hadn't even thought of her, hadn't sought her out during the feast. Luna might not have noticed. What with the new rules, Ginny had a reasonable excuse. But then Luna was Luna after all. That Ginny had never bothered turning around, might have missed it when Luna tried to catch her eye coming in…

Luna just offered a mild sort of smile. Somehow, that made it worse. Ginny tried to smile back, but it came out as more of a grimace. Thinking about it, she couldn't remember the last time she'd smiled.

The classroom door swung open, sending a shudder down the waiting students.

 _Gryffindor with Slytherin for Transfiguration_ , she thought. _That's to keep an eye on McGonagall while she's with her own House…_

So if Gryffindor was paired with Ravenclaw for this new compulsory course, that left Hufflepuff with Slytherin. Ginny had to assume that the motivation was sheer cruelty. Whatever was going to happen inside the classroom couldn't possibly be good.

The bell shrieked and the sixth years started before filing through the doors. At the back of the room, an unfamiliar witch stood watching as Filch fiddled with a strange device. A white sheet hung over the blackboard.

"It can't be that hard if a mudblood could do it!" she spat.

The other students slouched into their chairs and Ginny followed, staying focused on the back of the class. Nervous fidgeting thickened the silence as people traded confused glances and peered around shoulders. The professor seemed to notice.

"You!" she barked when Jack Sloper coughed. "Detention!"

Filch whimpered apologies and 'A. Carrow' started pacing like some caged animal. None of the students spoke and the air started to feel solid.

"Excuse me." Luna raised her hand and Ginny closed her eyes, wishing she would shut up.

"Silence, Lovegood!" the professor shouted back.

"It's just that you haven't lit the lamp," Luna said.

Fury flashed across the teacher's face as her eyes swiveled between Luna and the dark bulb at the back of the contraption. Tapping it with her wand, a square of dim light burst to merry life on the sheet at the front of the class.

Carrow's heavy features seemed to quiver with fury. "It's not bright enough."

"Well." Luna lolled her head to one side. "If you turn the torches down—"

The professor raised her wand and the sconces flickered lower. With the lights down, the square at the front of the room did indeed burn brighter. She almost seemed more angry of being deprived another reason to lash out.

"Hurry, squib!" the professor spat. "On with it!"

Filch tugged out a box and removed the lid with shaking fingers. The yellowing label read 'C. Burbage' and Ginny felt anger bubble in her chest. Everyone knew Professor Burbage had been murdered early in the year. Ginny's father in particular had grieved her death. While Mr. Weasley hadn't known the ethnologist personally, he'd been a fan of her work. Ginny had heard all about Burbage's travels through the muggle world, documenting their culture and practices. And how precious little of her findings ever got any attention. Why, Ginny wondered, had the Death Eaters kept her data? And why were they using it now?

As Filch snapped a slide into place a grainy, black and white image blinked onto the screen.

"Can anyone tell me what this is?" Carrow said.

The class remained frozen, not daring to speak. The professor's eyes flashed with a murderous gleam as she surveyed the students, but the image shining behind her was impossible to make out. Thousands of white smudges writhed in a cluster, almost like maggots or some other kind of larvae.

"Next slide."

The image changed with a click, a close up of the same scene, and Ginny flinched. The white smudges were pigs. More pigs than she could imagine, all crammed together in a teeming warehouse. Closer up, she could see their diseased eyes and rotting skin. A few students gasped as several more averted their gaze.

Another click and Ginny felt her guts tighten. One gloved hand picked up a tiny, fluffy chick and pressed its beak into some kind of machine. Ginny recoiled when she realized it was like a small guillotine. The blade sliced down and the chick's wings fluttered against the sheathed fingers.

 _Click._ A line of baby calves locked into too-small crates. _Click._ A masked Muggle snatching live chickens by the feet and hurling them into the back of a truck. _Click._ A caged goose with a rod shoved down its throat.

"What?" Carrow smirked. "Never seen a Muggle farm before?"

Image after gruesome image flashed on the screen and Ginny felt her eyes begin to sting. To her left, light glinted off the silent tears streaming down Luna's cheeks.

"And it isn't just farms," the Professor went on, nodding for the next slide.

A baby elephant, bound at the legs and trunk, struggled while two sets of men tugged the leads and stretched. Then, an adult elephant with his tusks sawed off. Then, a live monkey with bolts screwed into its skull.

Professor Carrow paced as she lectured, emphasizing each point with increasingly brutal slides. Pale, wide eyed faces just stared up at her, some of the students recoiling at the grislier images.

"Have your parents told you that Muggles are 'just like us?'" she said with childish, mocking tone. "That they aren't a threat, or that they should have our understanding?"

Ginny's fingernails dug into her palm while she tried to control her face.

"Your parents are lying!" Carrow roared. Flicking her wand a crate of books came tumbling off of a shelf. When the bell rang, the students were left to retrieve copies of their new textbooks that had strewn across the flagstone.

 _Triumph of the Wand_ , Ginny read off the glossy cover as she marched back down to the Great Hall for lunch. Scanning down the table of contents she felt herself grow dizzy with rage. The text was a collection of cherry-picked facts about Muggles, all compiled to make them appear more savage and dangerous than they really were.

It was a persuasive argument for genocide and enslavement.

"Did you know all that?" a sandy-haired Ravenclaw whispered up ahead.

"It all seems… Unnecessary…" his friend murmured back. "Torturing the animals like that."

The first boy lowered his voice further before replying. "I mean, I'm against You-Know-Who and all, but maybe people went a bit too far with the pro-Muggle stuff before."

"You know it's all bullshit, right?" Ginny snapped and the two Ravenclaws jumped. "Even if you get groceries from a wizarding shop, most of it's sourced from muggle farms anyway."

She remembered her dad and Percy having impassioned conversations at the dinner table about everything Percy had learned in his Muggle Studies course. There were a handful of old wizarding farms in Britain and Europe staffed by Field Elves, but over the last century, most mundane raw materials were coming from muggle labour. And that included everything from wood pulp for parchment to wool for cloaks.

The students had all stopped walking, sharing scared looks with one another as Ginny rounded on the Ravenclaws.

"It's called propaganda, you idiots," she seethed, drawing herself up to her full height. "And here I thought Ravenclaws were meant to be clever."

"Miss Weasley!" a shrill voice sounded and she saw Professor McGonagall's robes billow as she strode up the corridor. "There is to be no socializing between classes."

The Transfiguration professor seemed more scared than angry as she docked Ginny five points and sent her on her way.

Ginny spent the rest of the day dreading her last evening class. The new 'Arcane Arts' course was set to meet in the Great Hall, which Ginny found strange. It seemed too large a room for the much depleted sixth year to hold lessons. She tried not to imagine what they would be using the space for. As the professor was another Carrow, she knew it couldn't be anything good.

After Charms, the little knot of Gryffindors stepped through the arches of the Entrance Hall and Ginny was surprised to see a group of Slytherin's rising from the Dungeons. Across the way, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs trickled in, and it wasn't just sixth years.

The Head Table was pushed back on the platform and the four house tables had been replaced by dozens of desks. Ginny counted nearly fifty. Every student from every house, both sixth years and seventh, would be taking the class together.

Somehow, she knew that this fact wouldn't bode well. They would be assembled like an audience before a stage. And where there's a stage and an audience, there's a performance.

"At attention!" a sharp voice commanded and the students snapped their backs straight.

Ginny recognized the other Carrow at once. He had the same thick features and heavy shoulders as his sister. In fact, the main factor that distinguished them was hair length.

"To your desks!" he barked.

The students marched single file across the Great Hall while the professor paced on the platform. The three Death Eaters hung like shadows in the corners.

"Welcome to Arcane Arts." Carrow leered.

The professor rambled as he lectured, ungraceful and angry, about how Hogwarts students had been deprived education in these 'important magicks.' Glancing down at the syllabus Ginny felt her stomach tighten. Every dark spell she'd ever heard of had been listed, as well as dozens of other terrible sounding curses.

Blood Boiling, Acid Fog, Theory of Inferi… Worst of all was a section set before the Holidays: Practicum in Imperius, Cruciatus, Avada Kedavra.

Ginny Weasley and her fellow 'students' weren't just glorified hostages then. They were _recruits._ Hogwarts had become a Death Eater training camp.

"So which professor can I practice Avada Kedavra on?" Neville's voice pulled Ginny back to their lesson. "Got my heart set on Snape, but I'll settle for you or your sister." He was standing, eyes blazing with defiance as he stared down the professor.

Carrow's face just twisted into a hideous grin. Fast as a whip his wand lashed through the air. The force of the spell sent Neville flying, crashing into a Hufflepuff's desk several metres behind. The girl shrieked as she and Neville fell into a heap on the floor.

"Detention for him," Carrow sneered, and the three Death Eaters swept from their stations to drag Neville away.

Silence fell heavy on the class after that and no one, not even the Slytherins, dared to breathe. Ginny pressed her thumb against the face of her watch, focusing on tiny beat of the second hand under the glass, and counted each tick until the lesson would come to an end.

"The lot of you have been pampered," Carrow growled as his lecture came to a close. "You'll need to learn responsibility. Discipline. Sacrifice. _Obedience_."

The professor waved one hand and Ginny saw Filch slouch in, dragging several heavy crates behind.

"You'll each take one." Carrow nodded to the crates. "And it'll be your responsibility."

The students just sat, confused, as Filch pried off the lids.

"Hurry up! Go pick one for yourself!"

Nearly fifty chairs scraped back across the floor as the students scrambled from their desks, hurrying to the caretaker and the mysterious crates. Gasps rippled from those closest to the center.

Shouldering her way through the crowd Ginny heard excited whispers, and then… _Mewling._ A cluster of Slytherin seventh years huddled like a barrier in front of her so she stood on tiptoes to see what the fuss was about.

To her left, she heard Lavender squeal with… delight?

The crates were full of kittens. Dozens upon dozens of live kittens blinking up at them and taking wobbly steps. Draco Malfoy knelt to scoop up a bright white one and pulled it to his chest.

Ginny had no idea what the Death Eaters were playing at.

"These animals will be your companions," Carrow went on. "Feeding them, training them—that's all on you."

One by one the students chose their pets, grinning as they scratched chins or cooed at the little things. Ginny just stood, baffled.

"You too, Weasley!" the professor barked and she couldn't help but suppress a laugh. She'd never imagined that someone could offer a kitten so aggressively.

One tiny runt huddled in the corner of the far crate, smaller than the rest, with a patchy coat and a sizable chunk missing from his ear. She could feel his sharp rib cage against her fingers as she lifted him up into her arms.

The students hadn't been given any supplies with which to care for their new cats, so Ginny spent much of the evening improvising a habitat for it in her dormitory. Shredding the expensive, heavyweight parchment the twins had bought her she set up a litter box. A cup and saucer nicked from supper acted as food and water dishes. While she worked, the cat wound around her ankles.

Ginny promised herself that she wouldn't get attached. It was obviously some sort of trick or distraction. Maybe a bribe. But a crate full of kittens couldn't possible be enough to excuse kidnap, torture, _murder._

Slumping down onto her bed she traced the familiar cracks in the stone wall above. Tiny paws soon pressed down onto her abdomen and two yellow eyes peered down at her.

"Oh, kitty," she whispered, scratching the top of his head. "I know it's not your fault."

Ginny woke up with a start. The kitten slept curled and purring in the crook of her neck. Checking her watch, she saw that it was after two in the morning.

 _Shit._ She was supposed to meet Neville two hours ago. _Again._

Bare feet landed heavy on the spiral steps as she sped down from the dormitories. The Common Room was dark and empty, the fire long since burnt out, so there was no one to protest as she padded up the stairs to the boys dorms.

"Nev." She rapped her knuckles on the oak door. "Neville… Damn… I'm sorry I passed out earlier. I didn't mean to."

The door creaked open. Neville was still in his uniform robes, sat up at a table across an empty chair. Two cups of tea waited, untouched.

"Neville, I'm sorry."

"It's alright." His voice sounded stiffer than normal.

"Is Seamus here?" she whispered, glancing at the four-posters. The sight of Harry and Ron's empty beds sent a sharp pain.

"Nah," Neville said. The normal volume of his tone sounded loud after her whispering. "I told him we'd be having a meeting so he kipped out in Colin Creevy's empty bed."

"Oh." Guilt erupted in Ginny's chest. She hastened to take a seat and sipped her tea. Setting it back down again, she tried not to pull a face. It was cold as ice.

Neville just gave it a stir with his wand until steam rose once more.

"So, you wanted to talk about…"

"I wanted to talk about our plans." He nodded. Excitement gleamed in his eyes and any rudeness on Ginny's part seemed forgotten. "So we know McGonagall's in the Order, and she's a good person to be on our side. Granted, we have to be careful because we can't jeopardize her position, but a strong ally. I reckon Sprout will be on board, and Flitwick as well. Really, most of the old teachers should be sympathetic if we're careful enough. Slughorn might be an issue, I haven't really sussed him yet, but he likes _you_ well enough right?"

Ginny felt her tea cooling again in her hands. "What is it that you're hoping to do here?"

"Well, fight back," Neville said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "A good lot of the D.A. are still here this year, and we might even get new members now, so I'm thinking—"

The lump in Ginny's throat refused to get swallowed away and she couldn't focus her eyes.

Neville's face fell. "Don't tell me you aren't going to fight?"

"I…" she started, but the room swam as her eyes flooded. "Neville I'm…"

"Please." He nearly spilt his tea, gripping the side of the table. "Please don't tell me you're 'sorry.' Don't tell me you're giving up."

"I'm sorry." The words came out small and strangled, with a momentum of their own. Her cheeks had grown wet with tears.

"After everything you heard today?" Neville threw up his arms. "The Carrows, and what they're trying to do at this school?" This time, the tea did fall. A narrow stream snaked down the edge of the table, pattering rhythmically as it landed on the flagstone.

"It's just… What about our families? I promised not to cause trouble and—" Her parents' faces burned behind her eyelids. Every night they'd spent sat up at the kitchen table, lecturing. _Begging_. The promises she'd given to keep her head down.

The threat of Death Eaters, in the woods, waiting.

"Well." His chair scraped back as he stood. "I promised my Gran I would fight. And when she saw me off at King's Cross, we knew it might be the last time we ever saw each other. Without you, I'll probably lose. But I'm going to try, with or without you."

Neville had never seemed particularly tall before, but Ginny was sitting and his jaw was set. It seemed like he was leaving his own bedroom, but she didn't know why.

"Neville, I'm—" The door snapped shut behind him. "...Sorry."


	4. A Twisted Sort of Way

In a twisted sort of way, the rigid rules at Hogwarts made things easier. Ginny didn't even have to think about what to do or what to say; she behaved as they told her, and she wasn't to speak. As the weeks pressed on the Hogwarts students grew practiced at queuing, marching, and standing at attention. They passed between classes with military precision. Their faces became gray and drained of emotion.

Submission came to feel like freedom. Like some morbid version of peace.

Those sixth and seventh years that had succeeded in training and controlling their kittens were allowed to bring them to lessons, stroking their coats with unfocused eyes while Alecto Carrow ranted about Muggles making the planet hotter until everyone would burn.

 _Click._

"The ozone layer."

 _Click._

"Greenhouse gasses."

Terms traded between Percy and her father at family dinners took on form and context, however distorted. Ginny's quill grew practiced at scratching each letter without thinking.

The cats' heads grew more pointed and their bodies stretched sleeker. The days got shorter and the nights stretched longer. Autumn was fully arrived and every green thing shriveled and fell. A chill settled into the air.

For the first few weeks, there had been rustling whispers. Pamphlets had appeared overnight in the Common Rooms contradicting their curriculum. A protean charm, probably, replicated the same handwritten text. The penmanship appeared inconsistent—some W's rounded and others pointed—as though the author had intentionally disguised their hand. Ginny remembered that Neville had been a Muggle Studies student back when it had been a legitimate course. The grammatical accuracy suggested that Luna had been helping.

Alecto Carrow countered by doubling down on outrage and fear.

 _Click._

"Rising sea levels."

 _Click._

"Bee extinction and crop failure."

 _Click._

Extrapolations that the age-old practice of witch-hunting had only become more subtle. The muggles were engaging in a genocide of their own, shielded within bubbles of environment-shattering technology.

 _Click._

Anyone found in possession of a pamphlet faced the threat of brutal punishment. Immunity was offered to any student directing the disciplinarians to their authors.

The pamphlets stopped coming.

* * *

A blanket of dry leaves crunched under Ginny's boots as she marched to the greenhouses beside the Ravenclaws. Herbology had fast become her favourite class, now that Sprout had 'randomly' paired her with Luna. Luna didn't bother trying to recruit her to The Cause anymore. Neville didn't speak to her at all. In a painful sort of way, this suited Ginny just fine.

The atmosphere relaxed as the students settled into the humid classroom and set about their work. Handling Venomous Tentaculas provided excellent cover for hushed conversations and Ginny suspected that Sprout had drawn out the unit as a sort of gift to her students.

A gift that involved painful, oozing wounds and feverish nights in the Hospital Wing. Rumour had it Hannah Abbot had gotten herself stung on purpose just for a vacation.

Low-level chaos eased the tension they all had become accustomed to carrying and, for a while, it felt like the Old Hogwarts again.

"Neville's been given another detention," Luna said, as nonchalant as if they'd been discussing the weather.

Ginny just grunted at the news and held down a wriggling tendril with her fist—it was hardly news at all anymore. He'd been getting detentions at least once a week, after which he'd spend a few hours ranting in the Common Room while Lavender Brown sighed and dabbed Essence of Dittany onto his wounds.

For a spiteful moment, Ginny wondered who he was even trying to impress. Before, it had been obvious how much he'd wanted Harry's approval—bouncing to join the D.A. and rushing alongside to the Department of Mysteries. And everyone, save Harry and Ron, had noticed Neville's desperate crush on Hermione Granger. _Especially_ Hermione Granger, who treated him with a patronizing sort of kindness because of it.

With all of them gone, Ginny couldn't guess what he might be playing at. His talk-back in 'Arcane Arts' didn't change anything. It just gave Carrow an excuse to scare the other students and make them more docile for fear of the punishments Neville received.

 _All of them gone._

Ginny shook her head and tugged her eyes from the sweating walls of the greenhouse.

"How's the _Quibbler_ going?" she murmured, more interested in the _actual_ war going on outside the Hogwarts walls. While Luna's owls were monitored, she at least had some access to communication with her father. Luckily, the pair of them spoke so obscurely that they could say a great deal while staying beneath Death Eater perception.

"Well, I think." Luna smiled. "Daddy got news that they were spotted at the Ministry."

"Wait, what?" Ginny started and nearly got the stinger end of her Tentacula. "He's sure? People saw them at the Ministry?"

"Oh yes." Luna nodded. "There were loads of witnesses. They rescued about a dozen Muggle-Borns and escaped."

"How long ago?"

"Beginning of September, I think."

Sod 'no news is good news.' Good News is Good News.

Joy and hope flared in Ginny's chest. Harry, Ron and Hermione had been spotted just a month ago. And saving Muggle Borns, no less!

The hope flickered out just as quick as it had come. That a whole month during which anything might have happened, and no news since. If they'd been seen at the Ministry, then the Death Eaters might have caught up with them.

Ginny felt angry that Harry would bother with a handful of Muggle Borns when he should be more focused on the big picture and killing the _Dark Fucking Lord._ But that was Harry all over—wanting to save everyone. He'd always been quick to risk everything for one irrelevant damsel, greater good be damned.

Luna's hand reached for Ginny's and she flinched. How long had it been since she'd felt another person's touch? Blinking away the sting in her eyes she returned to corking her soil samples.

"Well done, everyone!" Sprout announced in a too-cheery voice as the bell rang. "Excellent work today. We'll continue with data collection next lesson."

The students clapped gritty hands on robes and returned shears to cabinets before queuing up beside the door.

"Thank you, professor." Ginny gave a meaningful nod as she passed, and could've sworn that Sprout returned it. _Thank you for having us work on such a distracting project for the foreseeable future._

A bone-deep cold set in as they marched out on the grounds. Ginny pulled her cloak tighter over her chest.

"Don't worry about that," Luna said.

"About what?"

"Them. We'd have heard something if they were caught."

"Yeah," Ginny gave a wry chuckle. "Snape would probably throw a bloody feast." She stopped short of joking about heads on sticks, if only because the image threatened nightmares.

"That's not what you were thinking about, was it?"

"Yeah it was," Ginny lied. She had been, before. Luna wasn't wrong. But now…

 _Harry the savior. Harry, who would risk his life to save someone—a stranger—a little girl that he barely even knew._

Ginny never had a fucking chance. Lovely, famous Harry Potter showing up at her house in the middle of the night via flying car. So gentle and so kind, even when her brothers tried to embarrass her. Harry, climbing down into the Chamber of Secrets to drag her back from the edge of death.

Fate had hand-delivered her an Object of Affection before she'd even been old enough to love. Of course she'd fallen for him. And somehow, eventually, impossibly, _he'd loved her back._ Even after everything she'd done…

She could remember the feel rooster necks beneath her fingers, cracking. Mrs Norris' stiff body as she wound her tail around a torchpost. The thickness of blood on her fingers, scrawling a message on the wall.

 _Enemies of the Heir Beware._

"Oh," Luna said, her staring eyes wide. For a wild moment Ginny thought she might be psychic. Blonde hair blazed in the sunset, bright against the inky silhouette of the forest behind. "Oh," Luna said again. "Do you feel it too?"

"What—" Ginny started to say. And then she saw them.

The swarm rose from the jagged line of treetops; a teeming mass of shadows. Gooseflesh erupted down Ginny's arms, the back of her neck.

 _Dementors._

The world froze to ice as they bloomed like black blood in water. A scratching sound rose from… somewhere. _Everywhere._ A familiar scratching. A dull quill end against parchment.

 _You're so nice to me, Tom. I don't know anybody who's so nice to me. Not even mum! She's always telling me I can't do things because I'm too young._

 _Your mother is foolish, Ginevra. I believe you will do things that astonish people, and very soon…_

"Hey!" Eyes like moons shone and Ginny took a rattling breath. "They're gone now."

Ginny was bent double but hadn't fainted. The cold ebbed as the memory faded, leaving only the normal chill of Autumn in its wake. And the normal devastating depression of being forced to attend a Death Eater training camp while everyone you love risked their lives on the outside and you might not even know it if they'd died.

"Are you alright?" Luna's voice sounded soft but the grip on her arm was comfortingly firm.

"Yes… No." Ginny took a steadying breath. "Well, you know."

"Enough histrionics!" A sharp voice shouted. "Off to supper now!"

Ginny span around to see Nott limping toward them, the scar running down his face shone silver in the twilight. A few students still wobbled on the spot and Hector Chambers had passed out.

"I think he needs the Hospital Wing!" Miranda Fawcett cried, kneeling down to feel Hector's dewy forehead. Even with the cloud of Dementors passed, his teeth continued to chatter and his eyes swiveled beneath his eyelids.

"Very well," Nott sighed, flicking his wand to levitate the fallen Ravenclaw. "Off with the rest of you before it's detention."

* * *

Moonlight fractured in Ginny's paned window as she sat up at her dormitory desk that night. White fingers gripped her 'Muggle Studies' book so hard it hurt.

Almost every sentence made her want to cry out in protest at how misleading and inaccurate the information was, and the text had been so hastily composed that it went through portions of only vague coherence.

 _And if your thinking muggle ideas for getting around magic are clever, well I've been their and Nucular Power Plants produce huge explosions and sludge killing everything around and even wizards too…_

Most of all, Ginny hated the book for how _convincing_ it was. Fact after fear-mongering fact leapt off the page, followed by wild speculation. While flawed, the prose was _urgent_ , inspiring enough emotion and anxiety to cloud even rational minds.

 _So yes_ , Ginny thought. _Nuclear power and bombs are a shite idea. But NO, that doesn't mean 'kill all the Muggles now.'_

Eyeing a map of nuclear missile arsenals - enough to blow up the planet several times over - she was struck to see it had been copied from actual Muggle sciences. The Death Eaters were hardly a group to go trawling through non-magic academia. Ginny couldn't help but wonder _where_ they had gotten the information in the first place.

Then, a terrible thought. _Muggle Borns._ Captured and imprisoned in Azkaban. She knew that all across the country, men and women were being dragged from their homes and sentenced to the fortress in the North Sea. She imagined the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange torturing them if they didn't offer a slew of nasty facts and slippery-slope arguments.

 _Triumph of the Wand_ crashed against the far wall and her arm twinged from the force of hurling it. The burn of satisfaction extinguished within seconds.

Three untouched four-posters loomed. Empty and skeletal in the broken moonlight like monuments to the absent. Ginny tried not to think of gravestones.

 _Barbara Stimpson, sixteen years old, Muggle Born._ Barbara, who hated it when people called her 'Barbie' but had a hard time explaining about some sort of Muggle doll thing. Barbara, whose thin wrists jingled with bracelets, and who always said 'mmm' before she said 'bye' so it sounded like she was giving a hug.

Barbara, who had been compelled to report to the Ministry's Muggle Born Registration Bullshit, and who hadn't been heard from since.

"Merlin's bollocks, Ginny, what's going on?" Parvati's face appeared in the doorway.

Ginny looked up from where she was sat, curled up amongst the wreckage. Her cat's eyes shone like lamps from the shadow of the dresser where he cowered.

"Oh, sorry…" She replied blandly, gaze out of focus as she scanned the room. Feathers from torn pillows still fluttered in the air, landing delicately on open textbooks and smashed bottles of ink.

"You were _shouting_ ," Parvati hissed. "The first years are terrified!"

"I'm sorry," Ginny gulped, gazing down at her knees.

"Listen," Parvati started to say, edging into the room. There came a yelp from around the doorway.

"Oi!" Lavender cried. Parvati trailed her friend behind by a handful of braids; she seemed to have been halfway through plaiting Lavender's hair and hadn't dropped her work.

"Sorry Lav." She waved her free hand at her fellow seventh year, still bent double at her side. "Anyway, why don't you come to our dorm for a little while?"

It hadn't been a suggestion. Lavender and Parvati scooped Ginny up from the floor without waiting for an answer and led her to the seventh year room. Out the corner of her eye she saw the hangings drawn around Hermione's old bed.

Parvati indicated that Ginny take a seat on her own four-poster, made distinctive by an assortment of embroidered pillows and throw blankets, before settling down cross-legged beside Lavender.

"Do you have any shea butter?" she asked, nimble fingers resuming her work on the braids.

"No," Lavender groaned. "They confiscated that too. 'No more than three hair-care potions per student.'"

"So you're doing braids now?" Ginny piped up, feeling awkwardly like an audience to the other two hanging out.

"I have to," Lavender shrugged. "They confiscated my relaxing potion because it had some sort of reagents in it that were banned or something. I'm going for a kind of 'Angelina Johnson' look now."

As Parvati wove artificial hair into a long, narrow plait, Lavender took up the end and produced a flame from the tip of her wand. The new hair melted and she squished it into place with a few taps of her finger. Ginny watched in silence, hypnotized by the way they worked in unison.

"Gryffindors!" a voice boomed, as if from the very walls themselves. "Gryffindors to the Common Rooms, now!"

It sounded like Professor McGonagall. Ginny traded confused glances with the other girls. It was almost midnight.

Murmurs and footsteps sounded from the corridor beyond so the three of them stood and made for the door, Parvati still holding a handful of Lavender's hair. From behind, Ginny heard the rustle of hanging's opening and whipped around. A mousy girl she didn't recognize was climbing out of Hermione's bed.

"Wha— _who are you?_ " Ginny stammered.

"Oh." Parvati shrugged. "That's Sally-Ann."

" _What?_ " Ginny balked.

Looking at her properly, the girl's face wasn't totally unfamiliar, but Ginny couldn't ever remember seeing her. What's more, she'd been at Hogwarts for five years and had never even known there to be another Gryffindor witch in seventh year.

"Sally was Sorted with us but left a few years ago," Lavender explained, as though Sally were some sort of potted plant that couldn't hear them or speak for itself. "She's only just returned."

"Compulsory attendance." Ginny nodded, trying to catch Sally's gaze.

The girl didn't make eye contact. She seemed frail and timid, tense shoulders raised almost to her ears. Clamoring down the spiral steps to the Common Room Ginny felt guilty for not noticing her all term. Not even at meals.

"So what have you been doing?" Ginny tried for a kind voice. "Homeschooling?"

"Hospital," Sally replied, thin fingers twisted over her mouth.

Down in the Common Room, sleepy Gryffindors milled about in various states of pyjama-fication. At least a few seemed to have just awoken; Seamus' face looked bleary and rumpled.

"I'm sorry to disturb you all so late." McGonagall wrung her hands. "But your presence is required in the Great Hall."

Anxious whispers erupted among the students and the professor didn't speak up to calm them. To Ginny's left, Sally had already begun to quietly cry.

"Miss Perks," McGonagall drew near, offering a terse smile. "You have been excused to return to your dormitory. Get some rest."

"Thank you," Sally squeaked before padding back up the stairs.

It felt strange for Ginny to march down the gloomy, torch-lit corridors wearing only her nightie and dressing robe. While she'd been out of bed after hours more times than she could count, she'd never before been joined by the whole of her House and led by a professor.

The Gryffindors arrived in the Great Hall about the same time as the Ravenclaws and the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs already stood waiting. Ginny felt immense satisfaction to see that Crabbe and Goyle slept in nightshirts very much resembling her own and that Pansy Parkinson hadn't been permitted to remove her curlers first.

Snape swept into the Hall, robes spilling down the steps as he ascended the platform, and the flurry of curiosity among the assembled students soon turned to dread. A full compliment of masked Death Eaters gathered to loom behind the headmaster.

Silence fell heavy.

"I was under the impression," Snape's low voice echoed. "That I had made myself clear. That your _government_ had made itself clear."

Just ahead, Neville chewed his cheek.

"I was under the impression that you all recognized what would happen to those who defied progress." Cold vengeance hardened his face. "Do you all need to be reminded?"

No one spoke. No one moved, and no one breathed. Hate like Ginny had never felt smoldered in her chest.

"There is a student here," he went on. "Whose family refuses to recognize the value of what the new administration is trying to accomplish. They are trapped in the murk and mud of lunatics who wish to see Wizarding Ways withered to ash. While they've toed every line in public, they continue to defy the authority behind closed doors."

A missed heartbeat. Breath frozen in Ginny's lungs.

"Over the years, we've made every attempt to… _correct_ their behavior, but time after time, they have resisted. And that simply won't do."

Thunderous bootfalls erupted as the Death Eaters advanced. A shudder passed through the crowd as students, professors, _Slytherins_ , recoiled.

"There is only one option that remains to us." Snape's voice rang over the persistent beat of the Death Eaters' march. "And we hope _very much_ that they do indeed love their daughter."

Ginny staggered back on instinct, crashing backwards into Professor McGonagall. Cold, paralyzing fear enveloped her as the professor gripped both of her shoulders. _Stopping_ her. Keeping her from getting away.

And then, a shriek. A shriek cleaving the thick air, from the other side of the Hall.

Two Death Eaters seized Susan Bones while another tore a black bag over her head. No one could hear the Hufflepuff screaming is they dragged her out into the night, but Ginny knew from experience that she was.

* * *

Ginny climbed through the portrait hole, pushing aside smaller Gryffindors, and cut a course up the boys' stairwell. A few people gaped from the Common Room and Jack Sloper blanched as she shoved past him, but no one stopped her.

"Was she working with you?" Ginny pounded her fist on Neville's door. "Tell me if she was working with you!"

"No." The door swung open and Ginny stumbled forward. "She wasn't."

"Did she meet with you? Did she work on those _sodding_ pamphlets?"

"No." Neville's stony face was set, eyes burning with sincerity. An old bruise ringed one eye, sickly green and yellow, and the split upper lip from his last detention hadn't finished healing.

"What about Luna? Had she talked to Luna?"

"No."

A pause.

"Well," Ginny said, collapsing down on Ron's empty bed. "Well that settles it then."

"Settles what?"

"They're going to get me, one way or another. And if Susan kept her head down, and this…" Ginny bit her lip. "I don't really have a choice."

Neville stayed rooted to the spot, intensity billowing between them.

"You have a choice." His voice came quiet.

"No I don't." She shook her head. "Because the war isn't just happening _out there._ At least not anymore, if it ever was." She twisted her hands in her lap thinking about how wrong she had been. Her family hadn't wanted her to just sit down and not fight back; at least not all of them. "And I think I have an idea."


End file.
